


The Detective and the Fuzz

by mirajanihiggins



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Jealous John, John's dog, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock's Cat, help with a case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 08:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirajanihiggins/pseuds/mirajanihiggins
Summary: A couple of new additions have joined the detective team of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. Will they break up the duo, or make it even stronger than ever?





	The Detective and the Fuzz

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot fluff piece. Everyone thought Sherlock had a dog as a child, but we learned differently. However, to mind mind, Sherlock is more clever like a cat while John is loyal and bighearted like a dog, so I decided to roll with it. Once their relationship has progressed sufficiently, perhaps there might be room for some four-footed adventurers as well...

“What the hell is going on here, Sherlock?” John Watson asked as he wandered into the front room from the hallway, still toting his medical bag.

 

Sherlock didn’t respond. Instead, he lay peacefully supine on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin. His ankles were elegantly crossed. He was still wearing his threadbare pyjamas, despite John’s most recent gift of silk ones, which he preferred to wear at night because, well, John liked them. The shirt was slightly hiked up across the belly, revealing a taut stomach that sent a little ripple of _eros_ through John’s nether regions.

 

However, it was what was on Sherlock’s chest that had provoked his outburst. Lying over his sternum, legs tucked away so as to create a more compact package, was a cat so black that John could have sworn that light was being sucked into it. Its face was neatly tucked between Sherlock’s palms, tail elegantly swished around its rump and legs, and it was purring.  Loudly. The kind of purr a sport fisherman would love to hear from his Evinrude.

 

“Sherlock!” John raised the ante. He was rewarded by a gruntled sigh and the very slightest shift in position, which the cat rolled with easily before resettling itself.

 

John was just about to use his commanding voice when Sherlock finally spoke.

 

“I heard you the first time, John, but I was so enjoying my trip through my Mind Palace that I didn’t have the heart to return. However, since I determined you were about to use your Captain Watson voice on me—which I do love, by the way---I decided to return to answer your query.” He cracked open one eye, then the other, and peered up at his flatmate-cum-lover with a gentle smile. The cat hadn’t moved.

 

John lumbered over to set his case down on the coffee table and stared closely, first at Sherlock, then at the cat, and pointed mutely at the second while raising one eyebrow in inquiry. Sherlock looked down, obviously noticing the cat for the first time, and grinned. “She’s back! How delightful.”

 

“Wait a minute,” John said as he carefully seated himself next to his bag. “Are you saying that you didn’t even know this cat was here? Were you really that far under?”

 

Sherlock shrugged carefully but the cat seemed undisturbed and continued purring contentedly. “She has been in here before, but never quite so bold as this time.” At John’s head-cock of ‘would you mind clarifying that’, Sherlock continued, “You see, I sometimes open the bedroom window, since you complain it gets stuffy in there sometimes, and, sometimes, when I do, this cat has been known to enter through it and wander around the flat. At first, it was only the bedroom, but then she became brazen and began to investigate the entire floor. However, she never seems to go upstairs or downstairs.”

 

“Hmph,” John grunted non-committally. He stretched out one hand tentatively, but the cat moved her flank subtly away and threw a look over her shoulder that clearly said, ‘Don’t do it, human.’ He pulled back his hand, feeling inexplicably bad about being rejected. Sherlock smiled in amusement.

 

“Don’t feel bad, John. She didn’t let me pet her for days. Just kept me company while you were at work. She’s actually quite brilliant, for a cat.” He separated his hands from around her face and indulgently swept his large hand over her back as she arched gracefully, tail flaring into the air behind her. John looked closely. Yep, definitely female. Sherlock called it.

“Yes, John, I do know the difference between male and female cats,” Sherlock drawled as he stroked the queen more firmly, causing her to chirrup in pleasure. “I was thinking of calling this one Cassandra because of her “all-seeing eyes”. And stop rolling your eyes so loudly, I didn’t say we were keeping her. The name is just for when she comes to visit.”

 

John’s jaw dropped open a tad, then snapped shut. No use arguing with Sherlock when he’d made up his mind. He idly wondered, for a moment, if he could find a way to charge the cat rent. He also wondered at his own disturbing sense of having been, in some regard, replaced.

 

>>>***<<<

 

A few days later, John bounded into the flat with an unusual burst of energy.

 

“Hey, Sherlock, guess who followed me ho…” he started before screeching to a complete halt in both word and action.

 

The cat was back.

 

It was lying on Sherlock’s chest.

 

It was purring.

 

Again.

 

Like it has done every day since…

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow above still-closed eyes. “Yes, John? Did you bring someone home with you? And does it have anything to do with the scrabbling I heard on the stairway?” The silver eyes opened and fixed on John.

 

John rubbed the back of his head as a small white beagle pup bounded into the room, romping about the old oriental rug and bouncing off furniture. Sherlock raised his head to watch, while the black cat turned her baleful gaze on John and hissed.

 

At that, the pup skidded to a stop, cocked its head endearingly, sped off toward the couch and excecuted an almost-failed leap onto the cushion, and barked.

 

The result was minor mayhem.

 

Sherlock squawked and jack-knifed on the couch as the cat’s claws dug into his chest through his thin shirt. She screamed at the pup and landed several vicious, substantial blows on its face as it yelped in surprise. She then launched herself into the air, again digging her claws in for traction, and landed on the back of John’s chair, back arched in combat mode and fluffed to twice her size. Her eyes were blazing green in warning. John leapt forward to separate the two combatants. The pup…

 

The pup tumbled to the floor and whimpered heartbreakingly.

 

“Really, John, was this necessary?” Sherlock sputtered as he sat up, dabbing with his fingers at the new pinpoint bloodstains on his shirt. “Why did you bring that micro-menace into the flat, anyway? As revenge for the cat?”

 

“You and that fucking cat! If you’re so in love with the bloody thing, maybe you should cuddle up to it tonight instead of…” He cut his tirade short as he picked up the pup with the bleeding scratches on its nose and spoke softly to it as he cuddled it’s tiny form.

 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Instead of what, John? You? Do you really think I could replace you with a cat?”

 

“You’ve sure as hell tried!” John snarled back. “Every time I come home, there you are, with that damned cat. You used to wake up long enough to at least kiss me and ask how my day was…”

 

“Which is always the same answer, John. Your job is boring and you know it.”

 

“NOT THE POINT!” John shouted. “The point is that you spend all your spare time anymore in your Mind Palace with that damned cat on your chest. It doesn’t even bother to leave the flat unless it has to take a shit!” He held the shivering pup closer and kissed its head, whispering “There, there, that nasty cat won’t hurt you anymore…”

 

Sherlock sighed. “And if we had a litter box, she wouldn’t even have to do that. Really, John…”

 

“Stop fucking patronizing me, Sherlock.”

 

“Fine. Then stop being so fucking insecure, John.” When John gaped at him, Sherlock went on. “That’s the basis of little two-act play, isn’t it? I found a friend to spend my day with while you’re away and you’re jealous. So you bring home a friend that I’ll have to take care of while you’re at work as revenge.”

 

“BULLSHIT!” John thundered as he put the puppy down on the floor and rounded on Sherlock, hands on hips. “It followed me home…”

 

“She.”

 

“What?”

 

“SHE, John. SHE followed you home. Once again, you’re attracting the females and bringing them home…”

 

“Oh, fucking hell. Are you saying that…”

 

“I don’t know, John. ARE you saying that?”

 

John rolled his eyes so hard the neighbors heard it, since they banged on the wall at that moment. “What, now you’re going to turn this into a “you’re still attracted to women” thing? Even though  I’ve rogered you senseless every night since…”

 

Sherlock held up a slender hand suddenly, then nodded toward the fireplace. John turned around to behold…

 

The cat was visciously grooming a very happy beagle. Thoroughly and persistently. While purring.

 

John tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a chuckle. Sherlock smirked. “It would seem our “friends” have reconciled their differences better than we have,” he observed, wryly.

 

“Yeah,” John returned, softly. As he watched, Cassandra circled the reclining pup and laid down, snuggling as close as she could manage and laying her head upon the beagle’s.

 

“So, what are you going to call her, then?” Sherlock asked gently.

 

John looked surprised. “What…?”

 

Sherlock’s smirk became softer and John’s heart just turned to mush. “You know she’s not leaving this flat except for walks, John. You knew it the moment she crossed the threshold. So, what’s her name?”

 

John thought for a moment and then he, too, smiled. “Rosie. She has such a rosey personality, don’t you think?”

 

Sherlock rose from the couch and came over to John, wrapping him up in those long arms of his. He kissed John’s forehead lovingly and stated, “Rosie it is, then.” He pulled back to catch John’s eyes and said, “Perhaps we should learn a thing or two from our new flatmates.”

 

John reached up to brush a kiss to Sherlock’s dusky lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s a great idea.”

 

They both retired to the bedroom as a purr and a satisfied _whuffle_ filled the room behind them.

 

>>>***<<<

 

“John!”

 

John squinted at the bright sunlight streaming in from the open window. “What? What are you doing up at this hour…”

 

Sherlock was fairly bouncing around the room with excitement. “A new case, John! Cassandra has brought us a new case!”

 

“What? The cat…?”

 

“YES, John! I told you she was brilliant! This morning she left me a gift—a canary with a tint of suspicious blue!” Sherlock rapped out as he threw on his clothes and a housecoat.

 

John rolled out of bed, barely conscious, and threw on his own robe. “So, what…”

 

“My God, John you are slow in the morning, aren’t you?” Sherlock mocked him, good-naturedly. It was usually Sherlock who crawled out of bed around noon.  “So, Cassandra must have been prowling last night and she brought home a domestic canary—not the type of bird one would allow in the wild, they are specifically bred for cage living—and it has obviously been poisoned with cyanide! Something is afoot here, John!” He rushed out of the bedroom and began tinkering with his chemistry set, analyzing the substances found in the bird’s bodily fluids.

 

John sleepily waved his hand, dismissively, and yawned. “Yeah, you go ahead and work your magic. I’m gonna take a shower.”

 

Sherlock looked up from under his eyebrows briefly and stated, “Fine, do it, just don’t distract me with thoughts of what you might be doing in there. I need to concentrate.”

 

John allowed a burst of laughter to escape his lips. “Hey, genius, I’m not the one distracting you. You’re doing that to yourself!”

 

“Bastard,” Sherlock growled. “Get out of here.”

 

By the time John was done with his shower and dressed, Sherlock had come to some conclusions. “One, this was a deliberate act. One does not normally poison a pet bird except for revenge or a trial run. Two, this canary had been fed a very high-end bird food, so the owner is obviously well-to-do or is a bird aficionado. Three, this bird food is only found in a few shops in London, so if we can track them down and check their customer list, we may be able to determine who has murder on their mind, because this is almost certainly an act of hatred against someone, to kill such a harmless creature as a canary.” Sherlock turned to John and grinned. “I told you Cassandra was brilliant!”

 

John squinted skeptically at Sherlock. “Okay, I’ll bite. How so?”

 

Sherlock turned on his seat to face John squarely. “Think, John! She found a dead canary—perfect food for a roaming feline, yet she didn’t eat it! She may have sensed, in some way, that this death was abnormal, so she brought it to me to examine!”

 

John favored Sherlock with a ‘I can’t believe you’re really serious’ look and said, “You know, cats bring gifts to humans because they think we’re really bad hunters, right?”

 

Sherlock’s expression dripped derision. “No, John, really? But what if the cat is extraordinarily intelligent and brings it to a superior hunter, one that can solve the death rather than devour it? And stop rolling your eyes at me like that. I am not insane.”

 

Just as John opened his mouth in retort, a small white beagle sped by him, carrying an object that looked suspiciously like a bird corpse. Cassandra was in hot pursuit, howling in fury. “Holy crap…What’s gotten into these two!”

 

“Catch her, John, she may have evidence!” Sherlock shouted as he sprang after the two. Rosie was playing keep-away with Cassandra and she was having none of it. “Don’t let her eat it! It might be poisoned!”

 

John and Sherlock were tripping all over each other trying to capture the renegade Rosie as she ducked under tables and around chairs. John finally caught her after Sherlock herded her into a corner and Cassandra slapped the tidbit out of Rosie’s mouth. Sherlock carefully pincer-grabbed the tiny carcass and examined it, even going so far as to sniff it.

 

“If you lick that thing, you’re not going to be kissing me tonight!” John warned before Sherlock could attempt it.

 

Sherlock looked annoyed but he relented. “Hmm. Same bluish tinge, just harder to see because of the light-blue plumage. Maybe it will tell me more after I’ve tested its stomach contents. Fairly fresh—this one is still warm, while last night’s was already cold. Good job, Cassandra! You truly are a wonder!”

 

Brilliant green eyes closed in pleasure as she purred in response while attempting to polish Sherlock’s ankles. John sniffed in contempt as he set Rosie on her feet.

 

“Johhhn,” Sherlock drawled, “Don’t be like that. She’s a cat. You’re my partner. Get the two straight, would you?” He looked down wistfully at Cassandra. “Now, if only you could tell us where you found this…”

 

Rosie rushed past him and jumped up on the bedroom window sill with her front paws, barking sharply. Her head turned toward John, who was still looking at Sherlock and preparing a retort. Seeing that he wasn’t paying attention, she barked again, even louder, and ended it with a piercing howl.

 

Both John and Sherlock turned suddenly and stared at the pup. Her tail was wagging a mile a minute and she was brightly attentive to _something_ outside…

 

“Of course!” they both yelled in unison. John scooped up the pup while Sherlock created a makeshift harness and leash out of two of his dressing gown belts.  After throwing on their coats, John carried Rosie down the steps, almost followed by Sherlock, whose progress was arrested when a claw snagged the imported wool of his belstaff coat. He turned and met Cassandra’s pleading eyes as she released his coat.

 

 _Mwrow_ …

 

He sighed. “Very well, then, hop on. We have very little time to waste.”

 

He knelt down so that the cat could jump up on his shoulders and sink her claws into his heavy coat for support.  Sherlock scritched her behind the ears and whispered, “Good girl” as he sped down the stairs after John.

 

They exited through Mrs. Hudson’s back door, much to her surprise at the mixed-species parade, and John set Rosie down and allowed her to scent the area under the bedroom window, where the bins were located. She sniffed manically before settling on one scent in particular and alerted John with a yip. John knelt down and said, “Okay, Rosie, here’s your chance. Seek!” He pointed down the alley.

 

Rosie barked and pulled at her tether, ‘dragging’ John behind her. Sherlock grinned at John and, with one hand holding Cassandra on his shoulder, pronounced, “The game is afoot!” as they raced down the street together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Considering a continuation at fan request...


End file.
